In A Poem

In a poem
I place delight
Where rhythm is solemn
And rhymes come
In various forms of music
Pleasant to the pitch
Of a tattered ear.

As it ends
Meter after meter,
So ends the testimony
Made by my silent voice.
Delight is dead
And the soul speaks
No more.

Review Request Direction: How does this theme appeal to you?

Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back

Editing Stage: Editing - rough draft

Region, Country: Manila, PHL

Favorite Poets: R.S. Thomas

to me it speaks of that empty feeling once a poem is finished, sort of post-natal depression?

It's written with a simple elegance I very much admire.

I'm not sure about the line-
In various forms of music
are you happy with it? Various is a bit wishywashy, perhaps diverse?

If I suss your intent correctly then I also question the title. I'm loathe to suggest alternatives, but am going to anyway 8)

After The Poem
Birth Of A Poem

feel free to tell me how badly I've missed the point.

I'm a bit questionable about the title myself.

I have this habit of using the first few lines of my poem as the title which in this case, I guess we all agree, seems awkward.

I'll try to come up with another title. Both your suggestions are quite helpful.

"Diverse" seems off key with the rhythm when read aloud, though I agree "various" is a bit too plain. I'll think of another similar word.

Yes definitely it's the feeling after you wrote a certain poem. You expressed all your emotions out. Then afterwards? hehe that sort of thing.

Hmm... I like your first suggestion better. :)

Thanks again!

Because I could not stop for Death--
He kindly stopped for me--
The Carriage held but just Ourselves--
And Immortality.

We slowly drove--He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility--

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess--in the Ring--
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain--
We passed the Setting Sun--

Or rather--He passed us--
The Dews drew quivering and chill--
For only Gossamer, my Gown--
My Tippet--only Tulle--

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground--
The Roof was scarcely visible--
The Cornice--in the Ground--

Since then--'tis Centuries--and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity--

The previous message was sent two times. I had to edit this. hehe

Sometimes, Dennis it's all about words placement.

In a poem
I place delight
Where rhythm is solemn
And rhymes come
pleasant to the pitch
In various forms of music
on tattered ear.

So ends my testimony,
meter after meter
Made by another silent voice.
Delight is dead
And the soul of my soul speaks
No more.

What you think?

That's another way how to put it hehehe